


ordinary expectations

by clickingkeyboards



Series: Asexual!George [2]
Category: Murder Most Unladylike Series - Robin Stevens
Genre: Asexual!George Mukherjee, Asexuality, Best Friends, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, Religion, Warning: Copious Amounts Of Sarcasm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:06:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28395849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clickingkeyboards/pseuds/clickingkeyboards
Summary: Batted between jokes about grandchildren and misunderstandings about where he stands with romance, George seeks comfort from religion, and Alexander.
Relationships: Alexander Arcady & George Mukherjee
Series: Asexual!George [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2108283
Kudos: 12





	ordinary expectations

“Welcome back to pollution and infuriating parents,” Harold greeted us off the train, pulling George into a hug and shaking my hand. “How was the journey?”

“Good!” I said, bouncing on the balls of my feed.

Harold rolled his eyes and clapped me on the shoulder. “You’re too cheery, Arcady. Come on, we have places to be.”

“How are Mum and Dad?” George asked, his fingers on my arm to lightly guide me through the station. I am still easily distracted by the architecture and carvings and shops of the London stations, despite countless visits to the city and many holidays spent wandering the streets with George, mysteries solved in alleyways and hospitals and museums. 

“You won’t believe how infuriating they’ve been,” Harold said, an expression on his face that detailed exactly how irritating he found it. “Grandchildren this and grandchildren that. At least one of us will bear the children that they’re so desperate for us to have.”

George paused, expression awkward and mouth half-open. “Oh. Yes, I suppose. Are they really bugging you about marriage?”

“Apparently a friend of Father’s at the hospital has a  _ lovely _ daughter that I ought to meet.” He rolled his eyes. “Pity I can’t sire children with Bertie. That would solve a lot of problems.”

“Daisy does say that he’d make a wicked society wife,” I said, and George gave me a faintly disapproving look with laughter in his eyes.

“Alas, we are stopped by the limited advancements of silence,” Harold declared in a faux-dramatic voice, and George laughed aloud. 

“Idiots, both of you.”

* * *

George and I were dissecting the end passage of the Poirot book he was rereading when Harold knocked on the door to his room. 

“George?” Harold called softly. “Can I have a word with you?”

Raising an eyebrow at me in perfected judgement, George called, “One moment!” and got to his feet. “Won’t be long, Alex.”

I heard Harold quietly beckon George next door, to his room, and I sat down on his bed, trying not to hear their conversation and failing miserably.

“That book you issued at the library earlier, bub,” Harold began in awkward, hushed tones. “I was wondering if you wanted… advice of any sort.”

“I don’t need your advice, Harold,” George said sternly, tearful tension in his voice. “I don’t want it and I’ll never have a use for it.”

“But aren’t you like—” Harold began, and George cut him off.

“NO! I’m  _ not _ like you, and I don’t need your bloody advice!”

The door to Harold’s room opened and slammed with force, and George rushed back into his room wiping his eyes with a handkerchief. “Are you okay?” I asked, getting to my feet and reaching out a hand. 

“I’m perfectly alright, Alex,” he said far too quickly, sitting back down where he had been before Harold disturbed us. “Let’s not talk about it, please.”

I obliged.

* * *

“Alex, are you awake?”

George’s voice pulled me from the edge of sleep and I mumbled, “Vaguely,” rubbing my eyes and rolling over to face him.

He was sitting up in bed, reading by lamplight and clearly growing increasingly frustrated. “I was wondering…” An awkward look crossed his face that didn’t quite suit him, usually so certain, and then he straightened up and took a breath and said, “I’m thinking about that intimacy peculiarity of mine again.”

“What about it?” I asked, still groggy from sleep.

“I’m trying to find reference to it in this book about the science of relationships. I issued it from the library today, and I believe it’s what concerned Harold so much earlier.” George marked his page with a bookmark and shut the book, setting it on the side table. “There’s an entire chapter on Greek reference to homosexuality, which I suppose is what aroused suspicion. But there isn’t one… not one reference to a lack of sexuality all together. Love and lust are all knotted together, as if that’s how I should be feeling it too.”

“The book is wrong,” I said with as much certainty as possible, sitting up too and leaning back against the wall, toying with my hair. “People just like you must exist all over, but they are scared of rejection from polite society and so not a word is said about it, and that will hopefully change in the future.”

He nodded thoughtfully, gaze fixed on the wall as he pressed his lips together. “According to scripture interpretation, sex is supposed to be one of the most beautiful pleasures on earth. Sensual pleasure is supposed to be one of the four goals to be sought in life. Why don’t I want it?”

Appealing to George’s religious beliefs has always been rather hit-or-miss because I do not fully understand and make mistakes sometimes, but in that moment I was sure of what to say. “If your gods… Brahma created human life, didn’t he?”

“Yes. He split himself into a male and a female and from that, all beings were created,” George explained, sitting with his chin resting on his knees, drumming his fingers against his shins. “Of course, if you believe in the more scientific singular atom theory for the origin of the universe, and Darwin’s evolution, it is taken more as a parable. Whatever people think, Brahma still set it all in motion. Every person is just as the gods intended, for better or worse.”

I nodded slowly. “Well then… surely the gods intended for you to not enjoy intimacy. If they don’t make mistakes, that is. And no matter the religion, deities don’t seem able to make mistakes.”

There was silence for a moment. “I wonder why,” he said, talking to himself more than me.

“Maybe they want you to concentrate on detecting and not be distracted?” I suggested, still rubbing sleep from my eyes.

He chuckled. “Some people do say sex is a distraction from the pursuit of moksha — the end of the constant life cycle, by the way.”

Hinduism has always seemed far too big-picture for me to comprehend, and I am quite unsure how George keeps all of those beliefs in his head and calmly pursues each one without getting overwhelmed or worried about the meaning of life. If I was in his position, I am sure that it would be all I could think of. “Your beliefs focus on the very big… everything a lot, don’t they?”

“Of course.” He paused. “I don’t think about  _ everything _ all the time, you daft thing.”

“How did you know I was thinking that?”

Smiling in a way that is very joking and private, something that mostly only I see, George wiggled his fingers at me and said, “I’m a mind-reader, Alex.”

“Bugger off, George.”

He laughed. “You know I’m right!”

“As usual, yes!” I teased in response, moving to laying down again. 

After a long pause, George said, “I know this is dreadfully girly but—”

“Hazel would have your head for using that terminology,” I said, only half-joking. I knew that George meant nothing by the word usage, but extensive lectures from both Daisy and Hazel on word choices that demean women have worked their way into my brain and made significant changes to my vocabulary.

“Alright then, it’s perceived as being girly,” he amended carefully. “Can I come and sit with you? I feel… cold. I believe that  _ isolated _ is the word.”

“Oh! Yeah, of course!” I moved over towards the wall and lifted the covers, letting George crawl in beside me. He is smaller than me, and slender, meaning that we fit quite comfortably side-by-side in beds made for one person, whether that be in Weston dorm rooms or small single beds at George’s house.

“Thank you, Alex,” he mumbled, pressing his cheek against my shoulder.

_ To hell with being girly,  _ I thought, and I turned to wrap an arm around George. 

He chuckled against me, and then hugged me back, his breaths against my neck growing more even with each second until I was sure he was asleep. With my chin resting against the top of his head, I fell asleep too. 


End file.
